Tainted
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: The worst part is that I believed him. Jin x Julia


**Another Jin/Julia? Yes, what was I thinking? More disturbing themes abound so proceed with caution.**

**Disclaimer:**** *imagines Hwoarang in swim trunks on a surfboard and sighs when she realizes that won't be happening anytime soon***

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It's been a while since I last smiled with joy. In fact, I still remember that day. It was, I think, some three months after we'd first met. It was early morning. We'd snuck out for some fresh air and I decided to let him in on my little secret. I told him to close his eyes and not to be afraid because I could never take advantage of that fragility he took such great pains to hide from the world. I took his hand in mine and whispered softly in his ear before telling him to open them. When he smiled, he infected me with his warmth. The trickling flow of happiness from his melting heart painted a smile on my lips. Gazing down at the amber waters of the silent rippling brook I'd kept to myself, I sighed peacefully as I let him taint me...

That was quite some time ago. A couple of months perhaps, maybe even a year, I can't be too sure. All I know are that the scars he left me still lie on my skin. They're invisible but they itch like crawling ants beneath the epidermis. At intervals, his voice resonates, a deep and shadowy baritone in my head. I sing to myself, pretending not to hear, drowning out the words he said and ignoring that feral red glint in his eyes.

Did you know that I used to like the color white? They said that white wasn't really a color, only a lack of it. I don't think I was sure I understood what they meant by that. I still continued to like white. It reminded me of mysterious, ethereal things like snowfalls and angels. I had never seen either of those. In Arizona, the only snow that exists are the soft, cold powder that the tribe elders would reminisce about in their worn tales of youth. As for the angels, he came quite close to one.

My tainted angel.

My forsaken demi-god.

We as humans need some kind of raison d'etre, a reason for being. None of us were ever destined for _nothing_ in this life. We all had to be at least _something_ to _someone_ so that we didn't feel entirely cheated out of our existence. I fancied myself as his savior. And I meant it too. I would have gone to the ends of the earth and beyond for him. It wouldn't have pained me in the slightest. I'd do it for him, I'd do _anything _for him.

Now that I reflect on it more, I was a fool. A stupid, blind fool to every single one of his countless whims. The more they tried to warn me, the less I deigned to listen to their advice. I was far too spoilt courtesy of my own fantasies. I never wanted to be the helpless princess or the eternal damsel-in-distress. I desired to be the huntress with the shining long-bow or the priestess with the divine mythical staff. I yearned for the ability to kill and the power to purify. In a way, isn't that what everyone wants? To not be weak or vulnerable, rather to be strong and mighty.

But limitless strength and might belong in the domain of the gods. And what am I but a mere mortal?

I was a fool for aspiring to be more than what I was to him. He called me his goddess and I believed him. Don't tell me that he should have never taken advantage of a naïve young girl. It was my fault that I believed him.

I just... I just wanted to be loved.

Doesn't everyone want to be loved at least once in their lifetime? All girls want their happy endings and I wanted mine to end with him. We could have wed, had children, grown all together, died together. Sometimes, I wonder if that was too much to ask. Maybe I was the one who had been selfish. After all, he was my angel. Angels could never be selfish creatures. Every time he dealt me a blow or a verbal threat, I'd repeat that to myself. Angels are never selfish, angels are never selfish...

Nobody came to know. I hid my bruises beneath layers of cosmetics. My broken heart was concealed within my smiles, laughter, and work ethic. Not too long ago, _I _was the one they came to for help. This time, I was the one who desperately needed it. Call it denial or anything else you like but it stopped me from seeking it. Call me an imbecile for writing my own death sentence, yes, call me anything you wish...

He said he was sorry. So many times, for that matter. He left me roses and violets complete with tiny sorrowful notes on my pillow as I slept. The scent would seep into my dreams, poisoning them, thus rendering me awake to mixed reality of forgotten promises and lies. The flowers don't last long. They wither and die no matter how much I tend to them. Just like him and his promises. So sweet and refreshing at first glance for a few days only to shrivel into scentless bits of what were once bright petals. He'd say he was sorry he hurt me and that it would never happen again.

And the worst part was that I believed him.

You can break hearts, mend them, maybe even cleanse them, but you can't help them turn to the light if they were already steeped in darkness. I should know. I tried so hard to repair his broken wings. I tried to wash off the black to reveal the pure white of angels.

I guess I was wrong about that.

Black is black. Black isn't a color, it is an absence of light. What was never there can never be...

I suppose I could have run. I could have escaped to some safe haven in my mother's arms or somewhere he wouldn't think of looking. I could have hidden from the incoming storm in the safety my friends offered me.

But it was too late.

I remember that dreadful night when he came home. I still smell the animal scent of lust on him. I won't ever forget that gleam of hatred and desire in his eyes. I can still feel his hands on my wrists when he slammed me against the wall. I couldn't hear the sounds of my clothes being ripped off because of my screaming. He gifted me another blow to the cheek which stained it red and ceased my screams. Blood... everywhere. Spurting out of the crack in my lower lip where I'd bit down on it and oozing out of the scratches on my back. I remember the wetness between my thighs, moist and red. I remember that foul, disgusting male smell staining my skin as he clawed his way into me, tears running down from my eyes into his hair...

Call it violation, ravishment, or rape but he did it. To me.

_He did it to me._

My memories of what happened next are scattered yet clear.

I remember pain. Misery which encompassed me in a cold, soaking wet blanket, freezing whatever emotions I must have felt, numbing the ebbing pain. In a delirium, I picked up the pieces of my shattered soul and pulled myself together. The blood was now sticky between my legs. I remember a knife, sharp as broken glass...

He lay asleep on the couch.

He now lay at my feet, spattered in crimson, groaning in pain. I'd picked up the knife and driven it into him about as many times as my rage could muster. The blood stained everything red including my vision. I screamed his name and stabbed him more to hear him cry in pain. This time, tears of anger slid down my face, mixing into his blood. I cried out and beg myself to wake up from this nightmare...

The noises die down.

It all goes quiet. I open my eyes and I'm here recalling it here to you.

Please don't question me further, Officer. I haven't slept properly in weeks. I have tried to erase the memories but they cling to me out of defiance. See? He's already won. I've given up. If you were to toss me into an asylum for saying what I'm saying then I wouldn't blame you.

But he told me he loved me.

And the worst part is... I still believe him.


End file.
